


getting to know you

by nighimpossible



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Biting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Sharing a Room, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 04:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13356771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: Fjord flops backwards on the bed, lifting his arm so that Caleb can see the full cleft of sinewed muscle the runs along Fjord’s tricep. “That leaves us in a pickle,” Fjord says with a sigh. Caleb tilts his head to the side curiously. “You won’t talk. I won’t talk. Sounds like we won’t be getting to know each other at all. Beau will be very disappointed.”





	getting to know you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadeblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeblue/gifts), [tinybabydeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybabydeer/gifts).



> Spoilers for episode 1 of the new season of Critical Role! Welcome to hell. Title from the King and I.

 

 

“I think it's reasonable that we all get to know each other,” Beau says with a friendly shrug. Caleb looks the monk up and down. He knows her as well as he wants to know most people: briefly, and with little attachment. “Mix things up a bit. Stir the pot. At least, you know, while Molly’s serving his last day in jail and we have nothing else to do.”

 

Caleb balks, standing in the doorway to his room—the room he _paid for_ , the room he and Nott have been staying in for the past week. “Nothing to do?” Caleb has a lot on his list of things to do. Whoever these people are, they seem to take time as a luxury. They are young, Caleb decides. They’ll learn.

 

“Look, if we’re going to be working together for a little while, I need to get to know you two. Nott’s just first, that’s all.” Beau puts a hand on Caleb’s arm, which Caleb immediately shrugs off. He knows what she can do with just her hands. He saw her at the circus. Beau puts her hands up in a placating gesture. "Relax, man. Just trying to be pals." 

 

Caleb doesn’t have much room in his life for many _pals_ these days. Nott is enough. 

 

“Fjord’s in our room down the hall. He's a nice guy. Promise,” Beau adds with a hopeful expression on her face. “Don’t let the teeth fool you.”

 

Caleb looks over at Nott. “I won't leave if you want me to stay.” Nott saved his life. He will not abandon her if she seems at all skittish—well, more skittish than usual.

 

But Nott actually seems happy: she's playing some kind of card game with Jester, and there's a smug expression on her face as she peruses her hand. “Is Girls Night,” Jester says cheerily. Yasha glares at Caleb from the corner and remains silent while Jester shoos at him. “Please be going now, tired man.”

 

Caleb doesn't move until Nott looks up at him why a shy but eager smile. “I think, maybe, they seem alright?” she suggests weakly. “And you won't be far.” Nott’s eyes widen in horror. “You won't be far, will you?”

 

“He’ll be just down the hall,” Beau reassures Nott, who seems to settle down within her own skin.

 

Caleb frowns and finally summons Frumpkin with a flick of his wrist. _Alert me if anything untoward happens_ , he instructs telepathically to the small orange furball. “I’m leaving the cat,” he says, the tone of his voice a clear warning.

 

“Is he going to shower now? I think that is excellent idea,” Jester stage whispers as Caleb gives Nott a small wave before stepping away. Beau closes the door after him, but Caleb still hears Jester through the thin wood of the door paneling: “Small question—is that man your dad? You really do not look alike.”

 

Caleb self-consciously lifts his tunic and takes a deep sniff. It’s not the worst he’s ever smelled, not by a long shot, but the showers are only a copper for five minutes of cold water. It would be a silver for warm water, but seeing as Caleb handed over many of his silvers to Nott for Jester’s various card games, he can’t really afford it. He heads across the top floor of the inn and flips Igna, the woman running the showers, his payment as well as a copper for her troubles. She nods at him and hands over a towel that looks unwashed, but dry. Caleb takes it.

 

Caleb washes his clothes first: the blood stains don’t come out, but the dirt mostly does. Using a rough bar of lye soap, Caleb scrubs out the sweat and grime from the past few days as best he can. He leaves his belt and books out of reach of the water, but still within arm’s grasp. Caleb isn’t in the business of losing his “ _family heirlooms_.”

 

He’s got about a minute left when he finally forces himself under the water that runs down from the spigot in the wall. Caleb shouts at the shock of icy cold, and Igna calls out from beyond the shower curtain, “Y’alright? Sound like some kind of animal dying in there.”

 

“F-fine,” Caleb says, teeth chattering of their own volition.

 

Igna laughs. “That’s why people tend to pay the two silver. Serves you right for being cheap, ya filthy bastard.”

 

Caleb is silent for the rest of his shower, scrubbing his fingers through his hair efficiently. From there, he rubs his face down with soap, shutting his eyes tight. Despite his best efforts, his eyes burn from the soap, and Caleb’s vision is slightly blurred as he attempts to wipe his lids clean. “Shit,” he hisses, pressing the heels of his hands against his orbit to stem the pain from the source. “Shit,” he repeats, taking his hands away and letting the water run down his face.

 

There is nothing Caleb intended less than getting caught up with a group of strange adventurers trying to make a name for themselves. It’s just that things happened so quickly: the circus, some kind of undead _creature_ , and then Mollymauk’s stint in jail. He has no plans of continuing this little side-show. The fewer people Caleb is involved with, the better.

 

Caleb thinks of his conversation the night of the circus with Nott, after the battle had ended but before they had made their choice.

 

_“We can just leave them,” Nott suggested reasonably._

 

_“Yes,” Caleb nodded. “We can.”_

 

_Nott frowned a little bit. “What if I don’t want to leave them?” she asked in a quiet voice. Caleb fell into a squat, so that Nott could see him on her eye-level. “They’re nice, you know. Don’t treat me nothing different, even though I’m—” Nott shrugged weakly. Her hands are slightly tremulous. “What I am.”_

 

_Caleb nodded. “Okay. We give them a chance.”_

 

_“We can kill them if they betray us?” Nott suggested._

 

_Caleb laughed, putting a hand on her shoulder, his eyes dipping down to glance at her shaking fingers. “We’ll talk about it. Let’s get a drink.”_

 

By the time five minutes are officially up, Caleb is mostly clean: at least, he’s cleaner. Jester will be pleased, though Caleb is certain that she will find something else to pick at. Drying his hair and face before wrapping his towel around his waist, Caleb gathers his things in his arms delicately.

 

Fjord is holding his blade in his lap, studying it intently, when Caleb finds his way into the room. Caleb gulps a little as he tip-toes inside quietly enough that Fjord doesn’t appear to notice him at all. It gives Caleb a moment to look his bunkmate over. Fjord is broad-shouldered and long—likely too tall for the bed, at least to Caleb’s eyes. Fjord has taken his overcoat and studded leather armor off, revealing a soft-looking tan shirt that dips down at the neck. There’s a hint of a necklace that runs beyond Fjord’s neckline, thin and silver against the hollow of Fjord’s neck. His gaze trailing upwards, Caleb lets his eyes focus over the muted green skin at Fjord’s sharp jawline for a moment too long as Fjord’s concentration breaks. “It seems we are meant to get better acquainted,” Caleb says as way of greeting. 

 

“Is this how you normally dress when making friends?” Fjord drawls, looking Caleb up and down. He raises an eyebrow and Caleb laughs.

 

“I took the liberty of making myself a little more tolerable.” Caleb gestures to his half-toweled form. “Jester seemed to imply I was fairly rank.”

 

“Don’t think there was any implying there. Just frank statements.” Fjord grins, and when he does, Caleb sees the glint of enhanced canine teeth gleaming back at him. He wonders how sharp they are. “You seem fine now.”

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Caleb says quickly, hoping to change the subject. “You can go back to meditating. I’m pretty quiet.”

 

Fjord looks up at Caleb with slight annoyance on his face that he masks away easily. “It’s alright. Wasn’t getting what I wanted, anyway.”

 

“That’s a pity,” Caleb says reflexively. It is a pity, but Caleb assumes that someone who looks like Fjord usually gets whatever his heart desires. That tends to happens when you’re both terrifying and terrifyingly handsome. For a brief flicker of a moment, Caleb wonders what it would feel like to be awe-inspiring.

 

Fjord stares at him for an awkward moment before clearing his throat. “The girls are good kids. Whatever you’re worried about, don’t be.”

 

Caleb walks to the fireplace and starts laying his clothes across the mantle. “So you trust Yasha?”

 

Fjord sighs. “I don’t exactly vouch for her, but she did come back. She didn’t have to come back.”

 

Caleb crouches down, one hand on his towel, one reaching out towards the new logs in the fireplace. He looks over his shoulder at Fjord and says, “Want to see something I just learned?”

 

He doesn’t wait for Fjord to reply, simply stretches out his fingertips and casts _burning hands_. Fire erupts from his outstretched hand, igniting the wood and starting a roaring fire. After days of searching through Trostenvald, Caleb had finally found a spellbook buried in the back of a bookshop he’d already combed over on three separate occasions. Granted, he’d only found one spell to take the time to learn, but fire tends to be useful. 

 

“Nice,” Fjord approves. “Inn’s cold enough to frost your toes off.”

 

Caleb starts arranging his clothes in such a way that they will dry faster. With the heat of the fire beneath them, he should be fully clothed in about an hour. Caleb can handle an hour of near nakedness with Fjord. He leaves the books far away from the flames.

 

Caleb knows how fast books can burn.

 

“So, how long have you been doing that?” Fjord asks, and when Caleb looks back over his shoulder, he sees that Fjord is wriggling his fingers at him.

 

“I learned that spell yesterday,” Caleb evades easily.

 

“What about your first spell?” Fjord presses.

 

“Before that,” Caleb says, tone a little tighter. Fjord doesn’t need to know about Caleb’s break from magic. In fact, Fjord doesn’t need to know Caleb at all.

 

(Caleb learned his first spell was over fifteen years ago. It’s not exactly an experience you forget.)

 

“I think the whole point of this is that we’re supposed to get to know each other—” Fjord starts, but Caleb stalks over to the bed and glares down at the half-orc.

 

“Why don’t _you_ tell me how a warrior casts Hex in the middle of a battle?” Caleb’s tone is accusatory at best, incriminating at worst. Fjord’s mouth becomes a thin line, and it’s obvious that that is a subject Fjord is not willing to breach. “I can use magic,” Caleb says shortly. “That’s all you need to know.”

 

Fjord flops backwards on the bed, lifting his arm so that Caleb can see the full cleft of sinewed muscle the runs along Fjord’s tricep. “That leaves us in a pickle,” Fjord says with a sigh. Caleb tilts his head to the side curiously. “You won’t talk. I won’t talk. Sounds like we won’t be getting to know each other at all. Beau will be very disappointed.”

 

Fjord looks up at Caleb. He raises an eyebrow.

 

It's a damn  _dare_.

 

One that Caleb is lonely enough to take.

 

Caleb sits down on the edge of the bed, close enough to nearly touch Fjord's outstretched legs. “Sounds like.” It’s a bold move, one that Fjord appraises with a stare that’s more like a leer than anything else. A shiver finds its way down Caleb’s spine, and it’s like a lightning strike. This is stupid, this is _so_ stupid—if anything happens to Nott right now, Caleb would be useless trying to fight this half-orc off.

 

“So we won’t talk.” Fjord leans up on an elbow, snaking a daring hand forward to rest on the knot of Caleb’s towel. Caleb places his palm on top of Fjord’s knuckles, though he doesn’t push him away.

 

“Is this how you normally make friends?” Caleb wants to say casually, but his breath gets caught a little in his throat. It comes out as nervous, and Fjord sits up before putting his left hand on the small of Caleb’s back. His touch is warm and steadying.

 

“Sometimes,” Fjord hums, leaning in slightly. “Not usually.”

 

It’s been a very long time since Caleb has done anything like this.

 

“Are we friends, Fjord?” Caleb asks. He can feel Fjord’s breath on his lips.

 

“Well, I’d say we’re acting pretty friendly,” Fjord notes. “Beau would be thrilled to see it.”

 

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “That’s a bit dirty.”

 

Fjord laughs, his fingers untangling the place where Caleb’s towel is tied beneath his navel. Caleb lets him strip the cloth away entirely. “She’s a bit dirty. Good girl, but a bit dirty.” Caleb can’t help but chuckle a little, and Fjord grins at him. “Besides, I think she’s more interested in what’s going on with that Yasha woman.”

 

If you’re into people who could crush you into a fine powder, Yasha is a fine option. As someone who enjoys surviving his sexual encounters, Caleb is not interested.

 

“C’mere,” Fjord murmurs, nosing forward to lay his mouth on Caleb’s. “ _Friend_.”  The word is pressed into his lips like a stamp.

 

With his tongue running along Fjord’s sharp incisors, Caleb decides that right now, in this moment, is not the time to examine his own hypocrisy.

 

Fjord has a hand threaded into Caleb’s hair, which is both unfortunately and embarrassingly Caleb’s exact _modus operandi_. Caleb makes a quiet noise when Fjord tugs his head lightly, and Fjord makes a _huh_ noise, like he just figured something out. Gentleness is lost quickly as they continue to kiss: the sweetness of their embrace is lost as a deep-set hunger seeps in. Caleb climbs into Fjord’s lap, searching for friction. He bites at Fjord’s jaw, and when Caleb digs down a little too hard with his teeth, Fjord pulls him back by the hair. “Easy,” he growls at Caleb, cheeks flushed. “You don’t win that fight.”

 

Caleb is breathing hard as Fjord guides him back for a kiss. “Who said I wanted to win,” he huffs against Fjord’s mouth. It’s probably the bleakest dirty talk Caleb has ever spun, but it isn’t a lie. Caleb isn’t going to boast about how he could easily take Fjord down. In all likelihood, he can’t. Fjord could probably, with some effort, rip his throat out with those damned teeth.

 

Caleb extends his neck for Fjord to peruse.

 

This is either an excellent trust-building exercise or a one-way ticket to an early grave, and Caleb just hopes he placed his bet properly.

 

“That’s not even fair,” Fjord groans, leaning forward to lick his way up Caleb’s neck. It becomes agonizingly clear over the next few minutes that Fjord is overdressed. Caleb reaches down and rucks up Fjord’s shirt as he makes quick word of Caleb’s unblemished neck. Caleb’s going to have a variety of fun marks to hide tomorrow.

 

Fjord pulls back suddenly. “Can I—here?” He presses a much gentler kiss at the hollow place beneath Caleb’s jaw. “If you don’t want anyone to see, I can stop.”

 

A little shocked at Fjord’s politeness, Caleb shakes his head. “Um, don’t. Stop, I mean. I’ll take care of the bruises.”

 

With Fjord’s shirt is off, and Caleb places his hand in the center of Fjord’s chest. Beneath his palm, Caleb can feel Fjord’s heart beating rather quickly. Against the deep green of Fjord’s chest, Caleb spies the necklace revealed: it is a small symbol on a silver chain.

 

“We’re not in the business of asking questions tonight, are we?” Fjord asks tightly.

 

Caleb frowns. He _wants_ to know what the symbol means—he is that kind of knowledge-seeker—but there’s no way they’re trading truths tonight. Not like this. Instead, Caleb memorizes the emblem and makes a mental note to look it up later. 

 

Caleb presses Fjord back in a quick gesture, who hits the mattress with a _thunk_. “Pants,” Caleb suggests, and Fjord lifts his hips and shimmies to help Caleb dispose of the offending clothing.

 

Caleb looks down and swallows.

 

“Should I give you a minute?” Fjord asks, bemusement in his voice.

 

“Oh, don’t be an asshole,” Caleb says with a glare. “It was going so well.”

 

Fjord sits up. “I’m real sorry,” he says seriously. A slow smile comes across his face as he clearly has an idea. “I can make it better.”

 

A little shocked at the turn in Fjord’s behavior, Caleb tilts his chin up a little at him. “Oh yeah?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” Fjord confirms, dipping his head down towards Caleb’s dick.

 

Fjord does make it better. “ _Pelor alive,_ ” Caleb hisses, his hands reflexively jumping to Fjord’s head. He almost immediately takes them away, but Fjord reaches up to replace Caleb’s hand on the back of his head. “You like it,” Caleb breathes as Fjord hums against him. He holds Fjord at the crown of the head, fingers threaded into his dark hair, as he tries not to buck his hips into the warm, hot expanse of Fjord’s mouth. Caleb notes distantly that Fjord is incredibly careful with his teeth.

 

Caleb pulls Fjord up and off him. “I’m close,” he warns Fjord, nearly panting at the effort to keep it together.

  
“Okay.” Fjord just looks a mess—maybe even more of a mess than when Caleb had first met him. His lips are shiny and spit is dripping down his chin. Caleb reaches out to wipe the wetness away with a broad thumb. He slips it between Fjord’s teeth, and Fjord licks at the pad of Caleb’s finger tentatively. Caleb makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and Fjord looks pleased. 

 

“You can finish in my mouth, alright? We’ve all tasted worse.” Caleb’s hand freezes in mid-air as Fjord dips his head back down, the hedonistic warmth enveloping his dick once more. Like he said, he was close—it doesn’t take much more of Fjord’s mouth on him to send Caleb spiralling over the edge. His hips buck of their own volition, and Caleb doesn’t know what to do except hold on for dear life as he nearly blacks out.

 

Breathing heavily, Caleb shudders as Fjord takes one last lick upwards. A long line of spittle connects Fjord’s lips to Caleb’s skin for a lingering, sensual moment before finally breaking between them.

 

Caleb quietly cements the image in his mind, for when they inevitably part.

 

“Get over here,” Caleb says roughly.

 

“Yessir,” Fjord says agreeably, scooting into Caleb’s space.

 

Getting a slick hand around Fjord’s dick is a challenge. There is a moment where Fjord hesitates, and Caleb flashes back to the moment where he set the fireplace ablaze with just his fingertips. 

 

“Do you trust me?” is what Caleb ends up asking. _Do you trust me not to burn your bits off_ is probably what he should have asked—more direct, a little less broad, considering the short week they’ve known each other.

 

Fjord just replies with a shrug. “Probably shouldn’t.” He doesn't push Caleb away.

 

Fjord is more than large. He is quite obviously half-orc, and Caleb can barely take him in both his hands. He starts at a slow, easy rhythm, something that he does himself when he has a chance or inclination, and Fjord starts groaning into Caleb’s neck, hips twitching slightly as Caleb continues his ministrations. “Anyone ever say you got great hands, Cay?”

 

Caleb freezes at the nickname. The last person who called him Cay is now dead. 

 

Fjord seems to sense the boundary press and kisses Caleb’s neck in soft apology. “You have great hands, Caleb.” 

 

Course corrected.

 

As Caleb continues with his hands on Fjord, he thinks that it’s easy to cross a line in the sand if you don’t know where its been drawn. Cay is a no go for Caleb. Has been for years. But that’s not Fjord’s fault. He didn’t know.

 

This is why Caleb doesn’t do this kind of thing very often. He’s got fault lines over every inch of him. It’s hard to warn people about stepping on the cracks.

 

“Can I,” Fjord nearly mumbles, his teeth settled on the meaty part of Caleb’s shoulder. It’s a near beg, and Caleb cannot deny the man. Plus, it’s scaldingly hot.

 

“Do it,” Caleb commands, pumping a little faster, keeping his grip around Fjord as tight as possible. Fjord comes over his hands and bites down hard enough that Caleb is certain that he’s broken skin. It only hurts a little, and Caleb likes the idea of pressing against his shoulder tomorrow, or the day after, and still feeling the ache of Fjord’s teeth buried there.

 

“Shadesbreath,” Fjord groans. “I call that a pretty solid getting to know you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb wakes up hot. A bead of sweat drips down the nape of his neck, and when he reaches to wipe it away, he ends up slapping the man curled up behind him.

 

“Ow,” Fjord murmurs, still half-asleep.

 

Caleb had offered to sleep on the floor—Hells, he’s slept on worse—but that had ultimately seemed fairly ludicrous. So the two of them had shared the rather small bed and Caleb now finds himself entangled.

 

Maybe this was Beau’s plan all along.

 

It looks to be a few hours past dawn, and when Caleb pulls away, Fjord sits up and starts getting dressed. Caleb takes a little longer. His body feels tender in ways it hasn’t in a long while. Caleb is certain that if he took a look in the mirror, he’d look like something had attacked him.

 

Fjord sheaths his sword in its scabbard and Caleb has to know.

 

“It’s a magic sword, isn’t it?” Caleb asks.

 

Fjord looks over his shoulder down at Caleb, who is still naked in bed. “Sure,” Fjord says unconvincingly after a long moment of quiet. “It’s a magic sword.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So Girls Night was a big success,” Beau crows as they walk to the Trostenvald prison to bail Mollymauk out.

 

“Very eye opening,” Nott says, nodding about twenty times in quick succession. “Despite being a girl my whole life, I learned a _lot_.”

 

“You need to teach your daughter much better, Caleb,” Jester instructs him primly.

 

“Nott is not my daughter,” Caleb says as plainly as possible. “She is my friend.”

 

“These details bore me,” Jester replies with a sweet smile before prancing off towards the guard who appears to have Mollymauk in handcuffs. “We’re _here_ , Molly!”

 

Beau looks Caleb up and down scrutinizingly. “You get to know Fjord at all? Guys night was a hit?”

 

Fjord is a few feet ahead of Caleb and Beau, walking in Jester’s footsteps. “Yeah,” Caleb says honestly. He reaches up and presses against Fjord's bite-mark on his shoulder. It aches nicely. “I think we got to know each other pretty well.”

 

 


End file.
